


It's Not a Question of Want

by dragonspell



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dubious Consent, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-02
Updated: 2010-06-02
Packaged: 2018-08-11 18:15:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7902784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonspell/pseuds/dragonspell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not a question of want; it's a question of need.  So when John brings a hurt Dean back to the motel room at one in the morning after a botched hunt, Sam's going to do whatever's needed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Not a Question of Want

**Author's Note:**

> Imported from Livejournal 8-28-16.

**Title:** It's Not a Question of Want  
**Author:** [](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/)**dragonspell**  
**Fandom:** Supernatural  
**Pairing:** John/Sam/Dean  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Warnings/Spoilers:** Pre-series. Dub-con threesome. Underage (Sam's 16) and Daddy!cest. Consider yourself warned.  
**Summary:** It's not a question of want; it's a question of need. So when John brings a hurt Dean back to the motel room at one in the morning after a botched hunt, Sam's going to do whatever's needed.  
**Word Count:** 7525  
**A/N:** So. Can't believe I wrote this. Really can't believe I'm posting it.

  
The motel room door bangs open, sending Sam scurrying off the bed, his bare feet hitting the thin carpeting. He tosses his math book aside because, trying to get good grades or not, Dad and Dean have been gone a lone time and there’s a good chance one of them might be hurt. This was just supposed to be a simple hunt but they’d left at noon hoping to make it to the nocturnal creature’s lair while the sun was still up and it’s currently nearing two in the morning.

Dad curses as he drags Dean’s limp body through the door and Sam’s stomach bottoms out. Dean looks out of it: head lolling, eyes closed, and just barely standing, hanging off of Dad’s shoulders. Fear clutches Sam’s heart and he breathes a quick prayer that he’s not going to have to shove his brother’s intestines back inside him and stitch him up while Dean protests that he’s fine.

“Sam!” Dad snaps. “Stop gawking and get the fuck over here!” Sam crosses the small room, coming up on Dean’s other side to help brace him as he and his father maneuver Dean toward the beds. Dean’s whining low in his throat and Sam swallows, terrified but not wanting to show it. He’s got to be strong right now—strong for Dean. There’ll be time to freak out about this later on—time for Dean to make fun of him for just how fucking scared he is right now.

Dad shifts, shoving Dean more on top of Sam, muttering, “Hang on, Dean. I know, I know…” and Sam wants to cry because if Dad’s doing this then Sam knows that it’s bad. Oh fuck, Dean’s going to die, isn’t he? They shouldn’t be trying to stitch him up in the hotel room—they should be throwing him into the back of the Impala and driving like Hell’s breaking free to the nearest hospital. “Dump him on the bed, Sammy,” Dad says and Sam stares at him.

“Shouldn’t we—”

“Damn it, Sammy! I don’t have time to argue about this!” Sam obeys the order and pushes Dean away, watching him flop onto the bed like a rag doll. Dean whines again, arching up and Sam crosses his arms over his middle, trying to keep his stomach from heaving as he watches Dean attempt to twist himself into a pretzel from the pain.

Not knowing what else to do, Sam runs to Dad’s duffle to grab the med kit. He’s pretty sure that there’s nothing in the kit that’s going to help whatever’s hurting Dean but he just can’t stand around and do nothing. When he comes back, though, he hears the snick of metal on metal and Dean’s moans reach a fever pitch. His heart in his throat, Sam steps closer to the bed, to see Dean’s arms stretched above his head, handcuffed to the metal headboard as he rhythmically bangs the chain against the rails. He’s half-naked, his shirt discarded on the floor beside the bed, and Dad’s got Dean’s jeans open, scowling at long scratches that are gouged into Dean’s skin. “Fuck,” Dad says and Sam bites his lip to keep himself from hyperventilating, keeping himself in the here and now where Dean needs him.

Sam tries to speak but it only comes out as a squeak, so he swallows hard and tries again, making himself loud enough to be heard over Dean’s low moans. “What’s—what’s wrong with him?”

Dad doesn’t answer. He scowls harder and starts tugging down Dean’s jeans, pulling them off of him and stripping him naked. Sam’s eyes widen when Dean lifts his hips up, instinctually trying to help the process, because Dean’s dick is hard. It’s more than hard—it’s a deep red, almost purple and it’s jumping madly in a way that makes Sam wince. No wonder Dean’s in pain, he thinks and a hysterical thought crosses his mind that at least he won’t have to shove Dean’s intestines back inside of him.

“ _Sam_ ,” Dad says, shocking Sam out of his small panic attack, and from the way that Dad’s glaring Sam knows that he’s been trying to get Sam’s attention a couple of times now. “Look after your brother,” Dad growls, skewering Sam with a dark, serious look that has Sam nodding automatically. “I’m going to go out and get a few things.” Dad pushes himself to his feet and Sam can’t help but notice the way Dean whines louder and tries to wiggle towards where Dad’s standing. Sam thinks he’s going to be sick—he can feel his stomach starting to roll and there’s a cold chill sliding down his spine.

Dad’s hand flutters, like he’s thinking about reaching out to touch Dean but knows that it’s not a good idea before he turns around, clasping that same hand onto Sam’s shoulder. “Don’t touch him,” Dad says. “Don’t believe a word he says and _don’t_ let him go. Understood?” Sam nods again and stares at Dean as Dean twists and turns, naked on the bedspread and legs spread. Oh _God_.

Dad nods sharply and then he’s striding out the door, slamming it shut behind him and Sam’s left alone with Dean. Dean jerks on the handcuffs again, hips bucking upwards and Sam feels his dinner getting ready to come up. He hates how pathetic he feels right now—how useless. He doesn’t even know what’s _wrong_ with Dean let alone how to help him and every instinct he has is screaming for him to try and ease Dean’s pain but he doesn’t fucking know _how_. “Dean,” Sam whispers, his voice breaking on the word and Dean turns towards him, blown eyes suddenly sharpening.

“Sammy?” Dean rasps. He licks his lips and tries to slow his panting. “Sammy…” It’s still more of a moan than talking and Sam feels a sharp pain in his chest.

This is Dean—this is fucking _Dean_ here in front of him. Dean, who’s always there for Sam, who’s strong and amazing and now that it’s _Sam’s_ turn to help, Sam can’t do _anything_. There’s tears threatening to spill and Sam ruthlessly rubs them away—he can at least do that for fuck’s sake. Dean wouldn’t cry; Dean would be strong. “I’m so sorry, Dean,” Sam whispers.

Despite the fact that he’s still writhing on the bed, body apparently beyond his control, Dean smiles. It’s probably meant to be reassuring but all Sam can see is just how wrong it looks—that’s not Dean’s smile and he knows it. “Why ya sorry, Sammy?” Dean asks like there’s nothing wrong. “There’s nothin’ to be sorry for.” Sam chokes back a small sob and Dean jerks his head towards the cuffs chaining him to the headboard. “Tell you what, though, I’m kind of uncomfortable. Mind taking these off?”

Sam does sob then because he knows that while it’s Dean’s body that’s in front of him and Dean’s voice that is talking to him, it’s not really Dean. Possible scenarios are flashing through his head and Sam’s not sure which one would be worse. Dean could be possessed or cursed or—he swears as he cuts off the line of thought, not wanting to think about it. Dad’s got to know what’s wrong with Dean. Sam’s sure of it. Dad _has_ to know and he’s gone out real quick to get the stuff to fix Dean up—to get him back to normal.

“Sam…” Dean breathes. “Please… Please help me, Sam…” Sam shakes his head and Dean grimaces before he arches clear off the bed, body forming a bow from his heels to his shoulders. “Oh, please, Sammy—please, I need you…” Sam shakes his head again and Dean comes back down, yanking viciously on his chains. “Fuck!” He struggles mindlessly, no more thought or strategy behind his plan than a wild animal operating on instincts. His legs churn, pushing him up the mattress and Dean curls into a ball before yanking on the chains again.

He pants, settling back down. “Okay,” he says, trying to appear calm but his chest is still heaving like he’s just run a race. “Okay, I’m sorry, Sam.” Sam blinks, confused by the sudden turn and Dean meets his eyes, looking almost normal if it wasn’t for the lust-blown pupils. “I’m really sorry, Sam. Please let me go?” Sam feels his face start to crumple and he puts his hands over his ears, trying to block Dean out. God, he’s so fucking _useless_. No wonder Dean didn’t want him on hunts. “Fuck!” Dean shouts again. “Fucking son of a bitch!” He pulls viciously on the handcuffs, rubbing the skin of his wrists raw and it’s a damn good thing that, cheap motel room or not, the bed is sturdy. And mounted to the wall.

Dean flips over onto his stomach, his arms twisting above his head and he thrusts against the sheets, shivering, before whining and flipping himself back over. “God, it’s not enough,” he moans. “It’s not fucking enough…” He flicks his eyes back to Sam, biting his lip. “Please Sam—just for a little bit? I’m going to go fucking _crazy_ here… You don’t know what it’s like. I just…I just…” He slams his head back against the pillow. “Fuck! I just need to touch myself before I go _insane_.”

Sam’s eyes are drawn back to where Dean’s dick is laying, hard and throbbing and he stares at it. “Or maybe you could…” Sam jerks his attention back to Dean’s face where Dean is looking at him hopefully. Dean blushes a little, looking downward like he’s just now realized what he’s proposing. “…help a guy out?”

Sam’s breath quickens and before he can help it, an image of his hand on Dean’s dick flashes through his mind before it’s gone. He could—he could do that. Sam doesn’t think that it would be much different than jerking off and, well, he’s done that for years now. It’s a rare sixteen year old guy that doesn’t know the joys of touching his own dick and this would be kind of like that except it would just be for Dean. His brother. He’d be touching his brother’s dick. Sam swallows, not liking how his own dick twitches with a hint of interest even as the shame and guilt flood into him. What the fuck is he thinking about?

He couldn’t touch his own brother’s dick—and it shouldn’t be fucking hot to him, anyway. Just how fucking sick is he?

Sam briefly wonders, though, if that would help. He wonders if jerking Dean off, helping him with the problem so to speak, would help Dean but then a little bit of logic knocks him over the head and Sam realizes that if that was all it would take to fix Dean, Dad would have just given him a little bit of time to himself and that would have been that.

“Please, Sam—please, Sammy, God—please touch me…” Sam closes his eyes and moves to sit on the other bed, folding in on himself and he puts his hands over his ears and tries to shut Dean out.

There isn’t a quick fix solution and Sam can’t do a damn thing to help and it’s fucking killing him. He curses his father for ever bringing them here in the first place, let alone exposing Dean to whatever got him out on the hunt. Then he prays that hopefully Dad will be quick in coming back with the antidote because Sam can’t take much more of this. He can still make out Dean’s pleading, hear how his moans and whines are getting a rough, ragged edge, and Sam doesn’t know what he wants to do more—leave the room to save his sanity or touch Dean like Dean so desperately wants. Except he can’t leave the room because he’s supposed to be watching over Dean and he can’t touch Dean because Dad told him not to.

Sam thinks hard about anything else besides Dean or just how fucked up his family is and about an hour later, he finally notices that Dean’s no longer begging. Sam opens his eyes and pulls his hands off his ears, listening to the silence before he glances over at the bed. His stomach drops because the damn bed is empty. Sam jumps up and runs over to where Dean had been, looking at the still intact headboard before he notices the open cuffs lying discarded on the bed and he knows that somehow, someway, Dean must have picked them.

Dad’s going to be pissed.

More important to Sam, though, is just where the fuck Dean has gone to because he knows that with the state that Dean’s currently in, no place is safe for him. Sam glances over at the door and hopes like hell that he would have noticed Dean leaving through it. There’s no other way out because there’s no window in the bathroom, just a small vent that’d only be big enough for a cat to slip through and not the full-grown twenty year old guy that Dean is. Starting to panic a little, Sam glances around the room but that’s when his feet get taken out from underneath him.

One moment Sam’s standing and the next, hands have wrapped around his ankles and his feet are being yanked forward under the hotel bed. Sam bites down on a scream and kicks at his attacker but that’s before he sees Dean determinedly crawling up his body. Sam’s blood flashes cold and he tries to shove Dean backward but Dean is stronger and heavier. He easily pins Sam to the hard floor and settles on top. Sam struggles, pulling on his arms and trying everything he can think of to try and flip Dean off of him. He doesn’t want to hurt Dean but he doesn’t want Dean to be able to hurt him either and God, who the fuck knows where Dean’s head is at right now?

Dean’s got him pinned down firmly, though, and he leans over. “Easy…” he breathes and Sam feels his panic begin to swell. He fights back harder though it gets him absolutely nowhere. “Easy, Sammy…” Dean grinds down on Sam’s hips and Sam freezes, able to feel Dean’s hard dick pushing against him. It makes his stomach roll and his stupid dick perk up, contradicting sensations that have Sam panicking even more. With one last, desperate pull, he manages to free an arm and he lashes out, catching Dean upside the head and knocking him off balance. Using the opening, Sam rolls his body, pushing Dean into the wall and scrambles onto his knees, skittering away and trying to make it to his feet.

He makes it a few feet into the open space of the middle of the room before Dean’s back on top of him, pinning him to the floor again, except this time face down. Dean growls, angry but mindless as he rocks his hips against Sam’s ass. Holy fucking shit. Sam gasps and drags himself forward another foot before Dean grabs his hair and grinds his face against the carpet telling him to “Hold the fuck still, already.”

The carpet’s rough and abrading against his skin; it smells like dog vomit and Sam doesn’t want to think about what it may have hidden in its thin fibers. Dean’s pressing him down in it, rutting against him and Sam chokes on a sob. It isn’t Dean on top of him. It isn’t. He repeats it over and over and over. It’s not Dean; it’s not Dean…

The door slams and Dean’s pulled off of him as a rough “God fucking _damn it_!” echoes through the room. Sam jerkily pushes himself to his knees, scrambling backward to put his back against something solid and he rubs at his aching face. Dad’s got Dean pinned against the wall, growling, “Hoped it wouldn’t fucking come to this,” and “Fuck!” Sam rocks back and forth, his arms around his middle and tries not to fucking cry. This isn't the time for tears, damn it. Dad’s here and they’re going to fix this and then it’s just all going to be okay again. They’ll make it through this.

As Sam watches, though, Dad doesn’t fix it. He doesn’t say some Latin or pull out some strange herbs like normal. He doesn’t even pull out some painkillers. He only pushes Dean down onto his knees whispering, “Okay. Okay, Dean…” as he unzips his jeans, reaching in and pulling out his cock. Sam stares, his jaw dropping and he’s pretty sure dinner is coming up right now. That’s his _father_ over there—the indestructible son of a bitch that Sam’s been railing against for years—but yet it _can’t_ be—not with the way he’s coaxing Dean to take his dick.

This isn’t happening—it’s not fucking _happening_. Sam whispers that it isn’t happening over and over but, no matter how many times he says it, he can’t deny what’s in front of him—can’t deny that Dean is on his knees and their father’s exposed. Their father’s cock is soft, not aroused, and Sam feels a guilty flush realizing that _his_ is as Dean latches onto Dad’s hips, sucking like he’s dying of thirst.

Sam finally finds his voice, pushing himself up to his feet as he stares in horror at the scene in front of him. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he demands. He stays put, not trusting himself to come any closer. He wants to rip Dad away, punch him for what he’s doing, yell at Dean for going along with this, possessed or not. Instead he just stands there. Dean’s wiggling happily at their father’s feet, sucking their dad’s whole dick into his mouth as he reaches down between his legs, stroking his own cock.

Dad clenches his teeth and puts one hand in Dean’s hair, holding him almost tenderly despite what he’s doing to Dean. Or maybe it’s what he’s letting Dean do—Sam doesn’t know anymore. “Saving your brother’s life,” he says gruffly and Sam’s hands ball into fists.

“You sick son of a _bitch_!” he yells. “You get the fuck away from him!” He steps forward, intent on saving Dean no matter _what’s_ going on with him but Dad stops him with one simple glare.

“You stay the _fuck_ put,” Dad says and like Hell Sam is but then Dad glances down at Dean. His stomach gives another queasy roll as Sam realizes that his father’s now hard. Dean’s trying to get the whole thing in his mouth, but he’s whining louder, now, like he’s more in pain than he was before and Sam just feels cold. “Damn it,” Dad mutters. “Was afraid of that…” Sam wants to demand answers of his father but Dad’s hauling Dean up and tossing him like a rag doll towards the bed.

“Stop it!” Sam shouts but Dean’s eagerly squirming onto the bed, rolling onto his hands and knees and presenting himself and Sam stares at him, wondering what the hell is going on and when they got so fucked up.

“Out of the way, Sammy,” Dad says, gently pushing Sam gently to the side and Sam thinks it’s pretty fucking ironic considering what he’s about to do to Dean. Dad grabs a hold of a small paper bag that he must have brought in with him because it wasn’t there before and pulls out a bottle that he pops open. With a full-body jolt and a stab of betrayal, Sam realizes that it’s lubricant and _his father planned this_.

Feeling rage bubble up inside of him, Sam steps up to his father again, grabbing a hold of his shirt and shaking him. The man’s twice as heavy as him and sure to kick his ass but Sam’s not going to let that stop him. “You sick fuck!”

In a liquid smooth move, Dad moves his arms, breaking Sam’s hold and knocking him onto the bed where Dean is writhing impatiently. Sam moves to stand up again, but Dean stops him with a hand on his arm. Sam gapes a him. “I didn’t want it to come down to this, Sam,” Dad says and Dean moans as Dad pushes a finger inside of him. “But this is beyond my fucking control and better it be me than some stranger off the damn street.”

Sam’s world is narrowing to just the bed and the sight of his father lining up to fuck his brother and he can’t fucking breath. He gasps, trying to suck in air but it’s like he’s in a vacuum, unable to get anything into his lungs. Dad’s saying something about monster venom and the female of the species and needing to mate but it’s all so fucking ridiculous that Sam can’t focus on anything and, _God_ , his dad is fucking his brother! Sam stares at where they’re joined, at where his dad is thrusting in steadily, and listening to the slick sound of lube and the solid thump of flesh on flesh echoing through the room. Over all of it, though, Sam can help but hear Dean’s moans as he pants for it like he’s a damn porn star and it’s the best fuck of his life.

Guilt and shame and disgust curl inside Sam—he shouldn’t be allowing this; he should fucking DO something—but the emotions are mixed with lust and God, Sam’s hard. Sam’s so fucking hard. They’ve stayed in more than a few places that have had porn channels but there’s only been one time that Sam’s been left alone long enough to watch a whole full-blown movie and he’s ashamed to note that Dean on his knees is hotter than the girl getting fucked had been for the entire hour and a half that she’d been on screen. Dean doesn’t have her huge tits and he’s not a bottle blonde but for all her airbrushed perfection, his parted lips are prettier than hers.

Dad groans softly, hips still rocking against Dean, one hand holding Dean in place but it’s not like he has to because Dean’s licking his lips and pushing backward. _God_.

Sam jumps as a hand lands on his thigh and he follows the line of the arm up to eventually meet Dean’s dark eyes. He tries to pull away but Dean whines and moves closer, mouth open as he pushes his face against Sam’s jeans. Sam starts to pant and he flicks his eyes from Dean to his father and with a jolt, he realizes that Dad looks absolutely _wrecked_ but he’s still nodding. “Help him out,” Dad says quietly and Sam has no idea what the fuck he’s talking about until Dean unzips his jeans and reaches inside.

Understanding dawns, quick and sudden and Sam scrambles back against the headboard. No fucking way— _he’s_ not going to hurt Dean. He’s not going to do it!

Except that Dean’s whimpering and trying to get Sam to spread his legs and Sam realizes that he doesn’t have a choice. This is not a question of what _Sam_ wants—it’s a question of what Dean _needs._ Sam glances up at Dad and nods, swallowing hard as he takes the voice screaming about the wrongness of the situation and firmly shoves it away. Dad says this will help Dean and Sam can do this to help his brother. If this is the only thing he can do, then, damn it, he’s going to do it.

Sam gives Dean more room to work and just like that, Dean’s sucking Sam’s dick into his mouth and Sam’s universe shatters into millions of tiny pieces. His breath catches in his throat and he can’t get it started back up again because _heat_. There’s solid warmth surrounding him, wet and welcoming combined with constant pressure from Dean’s mouth and _God_ , Sam’s going to lose it. No wonder Dean’s always bragging about blowjobs if this is what they feel like. It’s the most intense sensation Sam’s ever fucking felt.

The thought of Dean brings Sam right back, front and center, and he accepts the guilt that he’s getting off on this while Dean’s not exactly willing. Dad’s still behind Dean, moving is measured thrusts and Sam notices it, but it’s like wallpaper at the moment. All he can focus on is how Dean looks with his lips wrapped around Sam’s dick and Sam knows that he’s going to remember this moment from now until eternity. He’ll hate himself, but he’ll remember.

In a pathetically short amount of time, watching Dean slide up and down his dick, Sam’s body is seizing and he’s coming, shuddering into Dean’s mouth. Dean moans for it and swallows him deeper and Sam gasps and arches, unable to do much more than just exist. Dean pulls off, purring happily as he licks the head of Sam’s cock, sending stabbing shivers through Sam’s body with each touch of his tongue. Sam shoves him off, unable to take it and Dean whines in disappointment but goes, laying his head on his arms instead, letting Sam’s spent dick flop against Sam’s belly.

Sam lies there, trying to catch his breath as he stares at Dean, head down, ass up, still taking it from their father. Dad glances down at Sam lying wrecked on the bed before clenching his jaw and flicking his eyes away to focus on nothing at all. His hand looks impossibly big against Dean’s hip, skin darker than Dean’s fair white and Sam stares at the contrast. Dean wiggles, still moaning encouragingly and Dad snarls under his breath, his muscles rippling as he obviously tries to hold himself back and Sam swallows thickly.

He lies there, staring at the both of them, mind blank as he watches the scene unfold. There’s a niggling thought that maybe he should look away but he can’t. He really, really can’t. All he can do is focus on the rhythmic in and out of his father and Dean’s panting, ecstatic moans.

Sam’s unsure how much time passes before his father quietly swears and jerks forward as Dean’s moans go curiously silent. He does know, though, that it’s been time enough for his dick to like the scene in front of him again: it’s resting hard and full against his stomach, twitching slightly. Dad pulls out of Dean with a grunt and stumbles backward. Dean sighs, sagging against the bed and Sam alternates between looking at him and staring at Dad who, in turn, is watching Dean. They stay that way, locked in a strange stand-off until Dean suddenly whines and flips onto his back.

“Shit,” Dad swears, grimacing as Dean begins to writhe in pain again. Dad glances over at Sam and nods at his dick, making Sam flush. “Do you think you could go again?” he asks and Sam almost doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Almost. He kind of wishes he didn’t. Dean hisses and Dad swears again. “Damn it, Sammy! Can you go or not?”

Sam hardens his face and reaches out automatically, touching Dean’s arm. His father’s just issued him a challenge in not so many words and Sam can’t ignore that. It’s wrong and it’s sick but he can’t ignore it. Dean spins towards him, kicking around until Sam’s between his spread legs and Sam struggles to his knees. He stares down at Dean who’s arching desperately underneath him, pleading with Sam with tiny little moans, apparently beyond words at the moment. The scratches running up Dean’s front are still there but they’re smaller than they were before, making Sam believe that they’re healing.

Sam moves his gaze down to the tiny hole that his father had just been fucking—where he’d just been _inside_ of Dean—a hole that looks entirely too small and Sam thinks that maybe he can’t do this. He fights down a hysterical giggle because, _Jesus_ , he hasn’t even had his first kiss yet.

Yeah, sure, he’s a little late, but, hell, he’s been busy and it’s not like he hasn’t tried or anything. Dean would make fun of him for sure if he knew and God but this is fucked up. Sam doesn’t want to fuck his brother—except for the fact that he apparently does if the way his dick is throbbing is anything to go by—but more than that, he really doesn’t want his first fuck to be before his first kiss.

Sam’s already fucked up by getting his first blowjob and that little thought sends a spurt of guilt through him even as his face heats with a tinge of arousal at the memory of Dean’s lips around him. Dean jerks his hips towards Sam, wordlessly begging. “Christ, boy,” his father growls, “can’t you see he’s in pain?”

Sam lunges forward, mashing his mouth to Dean’s, finally getting in his first fucking kiss. Damn it, anyway. Dean jumps, startled despite his writhing, but goes with it, wrapping his arms around Sam’s neck and holding him close as he kisses back. Dean opens his mouth, tongue swiping out to lightly lick at Sam’s lips and Sam gasps. Taking advantage of Sam’s surprise, Dean slips his tongue inside Sam’s mouth and Sam’s dick throbs as he welcomes Dean inside him, sucking eagerly. Sam gives everything he’s got into the kiss and he doesn’t care how messy or sloppy it gets—it’s fucking great. When he finally breaks for air, panting just above Dean, Sam glances up at his father who’s quirked an eyebrow like _Sam_ is the strange one. Sam flushes deeply but like hell is he admitting anything.

Drawing himself back, Sam moves himself into position as Dean does the same and though Dean’s opening looks impossibly small, when Sam lines himself up, he slips right inside. He tries not to think of why that is, tries not to think of the fact that his father was already in here before him, but he’s already distracted as hell with attempting to calm himself down and not to come. Dean’s so freaking wet around him, hot and still tight regardless of how easily Sam’s slipped inside of him, and it feels so damned amazing that Sam’s going to lose it before he even gets started. There’s no way that he’s going to last as long as his father did.

Sam pulls back and gets in his first thrust, blindly following his instincts. Dean shivers around him and clenches down on Sam, making Sam gasp and lean forward. “Fuck…” Dean’s green eyes are on him, pupils still dilated wide with lust. He looks odd, foreign—he looks like one of the hot chicks in the skin mags that Dean’s always flipping through—not quite real with their narrowed eyes and pouty lips and airbrushed perfection. The creature in front of him has Dean’s features and, though they’re twisted into something Sam’s never seen before, they’re more familiar to Sam than his own: familiar, comforting, _home_. The reassuring familiarity of Dean in front of him combined with the sheer _hot_ of Dean’s body are curling inside of Sam, threatening to make him explode.

Dean whines and grips Sam’s shoulders as his legs wind behind Sam’s back, holding him close though Sam has no plans on going anywhere. He couldn’t possibly walk away from this. Dean’s fucking him back, hips lifting with every stroke Sam makes and Sam’s lost in the sensation of hot and tight and wet around his dick. He gives in completely to mindlessly thrusting, unable to do much else, and it’s not long before his world is exploding and Sam’s coming, biting his lip bloody as he loses it inside of Dean. He shudders, gripping Dean’s hips tight and plunges in one last time, his eyes squeezed shut tight as he deals with the pleasure skating up and down his spine.

Dean moans, bucking beneath Sam with a whispered “Oh fuck…” Sam opens his eyes to see a large dark hand on Dean’s dick, jerking him off steadily no matter how much Dean twists to get away. Dean raises his hands to cover his face, hiding himself from view and Sam resists the urge to rip them away as with one last, shuddery “fuck…” Dean comes, dick jerking against his belly.

The orgasm makes Dean tighten, clamping down harder on Sam and Sam gasps, pulling out before he dies from his twinging, oversensitized nerves. He topples over backwards, landing on the bed, head thumping against the wall.

Dean’s gone silent again, sleepy and pliable and Dad’s coaxing him into a laying position on the bed. “There you go, Dean. Easy, boy, easy…” Dean goes willingly and he’s warm as he curls up beside Sam. Whatever pain he was in, is apparently gone, at least for the moment and Dean falls into an easy sleep. Sam stares at him, trying to convince himself that Dean is alright and everything is fine. He can’t quite manage it, though, because even if Dean is sleeping peacefully beside him, he’s still naked and coated in come.

Sam stares down at Dean’s slightly smiling face, feeling too many emotions to sort out roiling inside of him. With a groan, Dad collapses onto the other bed and Sam flicks his eyes over towards him. Dad scrubs his face and answers the question that Sam’s carefully not asking. “I don’t know. Maybe.” He kicks off his boots and hauls himself completely onto the bed to stare up at the ceiling, his face twisting into a grimace. “Can’t even clean him up. He might need…more.”

With that hanging in the quiet hotel room like a rancid, stomach-turning stench, Sam settles down into the bed and lets Dean curl up against his side.

* * *

Sometime during the night, Sam’s woken up by the rocking of the mattress underneath him and a quiet, desperate gasping near his ear. Sam’s eyes snap open and he jerks himself upward. Dean’s panting beside him, on his hands and knees again and Dad’s behind him, fucking him brainless. Sam’s blood runs cold because he was kind of hoping that this had all been one very fucked up nightmare but if it is, he’s still in it. Shame flashes through him again because watching Dean getting pounded by their dad is making Sam throb again. Dean’s eyes open, catching Sam watching and Sam pales, flipping over onto his side and pretending to go back to sleep, that nothing’s wrong.

God, he’s a sick fuck. They’re all a bunch of sick fucks.

The bed keeps rocking underneath Sam and he loses track of time with its steady rhythm, each thrust punctuated by Dean’s moans.

* * *

“…Sammy…” Dean moans and Sam pulls himself out of a dream, vaguely wondering what’s wrong. “Sammy, please…” With a jolt, it all comes screaming back to Sam and he’s suddenly wide awake. Unable to breathe again, he feels Dean’s hand on his shoulder and he rolls over to meet Dean’s desperate eyes. Dean pulls him into a kiss, licking into Sam’s mouth, trying to coax Sam into giving in. Sam breaks away, using one hand to hold Dean at bay despite his soft whines and glances over at the other bed. Dad has his back to them, either asleep or pretending to be. In other words, this is all on Sam.

“Please, Sammy…” Dean whispers. “Please.” Sam closes his eyes and rolls towards Dean, wrapping his arms around Dean’s neck and kissing him again. Their tongues duel slickly and it’s Sam moaning now, matching Dean. With a little bit of prodding, Sam gets Dean to roll onto his side and Sam embraces him from behind, sliding in to Dean’s heat just as smoothly as before.

“Oh _fuck_ …” Sam whispers, his hips moving against Dean’s.

“Yeah,” Dean replies. “Yeah…” Dean’s forming words in the middle of the act now—Sam thinks that he’s got to be getting better. Indulging himself, Sam kisses up Dean’s shoulder, copying the move straight out of a movie but Dean doesn’t seem to mind. He stretches his arm back, cupping Sam’s head and Sam loses himself in the feel of Dean’s hot heat and the sensation of Dean moving around him.

He also tries not to be disturbed that, in his dreams, Dean seems to be replacing every fantasy Sam’s ever had.

* * *

It’s morning when Sam wakes up again and this time, it’s not because the bed’s rocking or because Dean’s begging to be fucked, but because he can feel eyes burning holes in him. It’s a cowardly move, but Sam almost wants to stay lost in the dark. So he forces his eyes open and meets Dean’s brittle stare. Sam swallows and stares back. “Hey.” There’s a lot of things that Sam wants to ask right now: Is Dean feeling better? Does he need more? _What happened and are they okay?_ but he says none of it and lets Dean decide what he wants to talk about.

Dean matches Sam’s swallow. “Hey.” Dean doesn’t seem to want to take it beyond that but Sam’s determined to wait him out. Minutes tick by with the two of them just staring at each other before Dean finally caves. “So, uh…”

Sam’s stupid mouth runs off without him. “Are you better?” he blurts and Dean’s eyes go wide.

“Y-Yeah.” This close, Sam can’t miss the shamed blush staining Dean’s cheeks and Sam has the disturbing urge to touch it. He gives in, figuring that after everything else they’ve done in the past twenty four hours, him wanting to simply touch Dean’s face and make sure it’s really him is definitely not the weirdest. Dean blushes harder but he doesn’t move away.

“Good,” Sam says, unable to think of anything better to say. He shifts uncomfortably and groans when his dick, rigid with morning wood, brushes up against Dean’s thigh. Dean’s mouth drops open in shock and Sam flushes guiltily. It’s not the first time that either one of them have accidentally brushed a dick against the other—they’ve shared beds nearly all of their lives, after all—but it’s definitely the first time after Dean was forced to be fucked all night and Sam’s ashamed for unconsciously hinting about what happened last night. He wonders how much Dean remembers and feels even guiltier for hoping that the answer is ‘none.’ He tries to slide off the bed and away from Dean but before he can go, Dean catches his arm.

“Y-y-you can, Sammy,” Dean stutters, his eyes wide and Sam’s hopes of Dean not remembering anything go straight out the window. “If you want.”

It’s a moot point that Sam already has, more than once, because they both understand exactly what Dean’s offering here. This is in the light of day and whatever was working through Dean’s system is now gone. This wouldn’t be helping his brother—this would be something different entirely and it makes Sam’s blood run cold. It’d be something _wrong_ even by their standards. Brothers’ aren’t supposed to do this. Hell, before last night, Sam had never even considered doing this—his wildest daytime fantasies had included maybe Angelina Jolie and getting a chance to see her naked.

That, though, was before last night. It makes Sam hate himself just a little bit more but he’s thinking about it. He’s not supposed to think of his brother in that way—it’s sick and wrong—but all Sam can focus on is just how good Dean looked underneath him last night, just how good he felt. Sam’s only got bits and pieces but they’re flashing through his mind and his first reaction is definitely not a no.

And last night, Dean wasn’t offering. Last night Dean had been begging because he had been forced to, because the pain wouldn’t let him do anything else. Today, nobody’s forcing Dean to do anything. It makes Sam’s mouth go dry.

But there’s the possibility that Dean’s throwing this at Sam out of some fucked up version of guilt and Sam knows that none of this was Dean’s fault. None of it. “Dean.”

Dean’s hand tightens on Sam’s arm. “I want you to,” he says and then ducks his eyes shyly. “If you want to.”

Sam’s dick gives a hopeful little throb, reminding Sam of how much fun last night had been even as Sam’s brain reminds him of just how damn _confusing_ and _wrong_ it had been as well. It all knots inside of Sam and he freezes, his eyes moving over to Dad’s bed.

“He’s gone,” Dean says quietly. “He, uh, left about a half hour ago with Caleb.” Which means that Dad left to go kill whatever it was that got Dean and he’s not fucking around this time. Sam searches Dean’s face for how he feels about this and Dean sighs. “She came out of nowhere,” he says, like it’s an explanation and it probably is, just not for Sam’s fucked up emotions.

Dean rambles on some more but Sam’s not particularly listening because he’s too busy shoving down the guilt and shame that are disturbingly less potent than they were last night. He traces a few absentminded designs on Dean’s arm, cataloguing the feel of Dean’s skin now that he’s no longer out of his mind with pain and desperation and eventually Dean goes quiet. “Sammy?” he asks, insecurity bleeding through despite the brave face he’s tried to put on.

He squeaks when Sam leans forward and kisses him, shocked into holding still as Sam re-explores what it’s like to kiss his older brother. Last night had been his first kiss and though it’s a haze, Sam distinctly remembers that he liked it, fucked-up situation aside. He thought that he’d like to try it in a—relatively—normal situation. As Sam presses his lips to Dean’s, Sam thinks that this is better than last night’s attempt—especially when Dean relaxes into it and goes with whatever Sam wants. Dean’s loose and pliant as Sam gently rolls on top of him, again stealing a move out a movie he’s seen but, just like last time, Dean doesn’t seem to mind. Dean’s hands come up to tangle in Sam’s hair, holding him still as Dean throws himself into the kiss, showing Sam every trick he’s got. Dean licks at Sam’s mouth, coaxing him open again and Sam returns the favor, tongue sliding against Dean’s. Dean moans and pulses his hips, rocking into Sam and, shuddering, Sam echoes the motion.

They move together, rutting against one another as they kiss, hands too busy holding on to do much else. Sam’s dick is sliding against Dean’s hip, over his soft skin and Sam knows that he’s got to be leaving a mess all over Dean. Dean’s doing the same to him, though, precome leaking all over Sam’s stomach and Sam thinks that he might like it. He likes that Dean is marking him and he likes the unhurried making out.

Sam comes almost as an afterthought, his orgasm sneaking up on him in the middle of kissing Dean. One moment he’s focused on his tongue in Dean’s mouth and the next, he’s shivering as his body tingles and Dean’s groaning, “God, yeah, Sammy…”

Dean smears Sam’s come into his skin before reaching down to fist his dick, bringing himself off with a few quick strokes. “Fuck…” Sam stares intently as Dean falls apart, watching his face the way he couldn’t last night and it makes him shiver.

It hits him then that he and his brother just had sex in the clear light of a day and Dean’s curse is long freaking gone. Dean’s staring at him and Sam feels a flutter of panic, especially when he thinks of what Dad might say but then he resolutely squashes it. It’s Dad’s fault that any of this happened in the first place, so he might as well just deal with it. Plus, Sam doesn’t think that he’s going to apologize for liking this—not with the way Dean’s starting to smile, slow and shy and completely the opposite of what Dean normally looks like, not with the way Dean’s pulling him into a hug, and not with the way that Sam feels like a missing part of his life just clicked into place. Sam relaxes, sighing, and lets Dean tuck him against his body.

All of this, after all, was never a question of want—it was a question of need. If Dean needs this, then Sam thinks he can do it and, more than that, maybe Sam needs it, too.

He falls asleep again, wrapped in Dean's arms in the middle of the wrecked bed and doesn't think about what a mess his life has become because it's not like he's ever had a chance at normal. If he was normal, Sam wouldn't have his brother's come drying on his skin and he wouldn't be okay with that.

It's another way in that the rules of the world just don't seem to apply for them.

 

 


End file.
